


At the Altar

by aizetsus



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, but that's canon so you should know that, rinea's there too kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13379124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizetsus/pseuds/aizetsus
Summary: A rewrite of the scene at the start of act 5. You know the one.





	At the Altar

**Author's Note:**

> so look. i tried to rewrite this scene because it felt like it suddenly cut off and also i wanted more fernand but i think i might have made it worse in a way. I usually try to even out their inherent power imbalance in my fics but I uh.. kinda amped it up in this one. still worth a read though if you like these two or my writing, it's just not a healthy portrayal of their relationship

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the halls, seemingly shaking the entire foundation of the tunnels. Fernand picked up the pace, calling out to his prince.

“Lord Berkut!”

He turned a quick corner only to find himself facing an altar, burning bright in the dark cavern. Yet there was a chill in the air, as though a layer of frost coated every inch of the place. There, kneeling before the blaze, was the prince; a dark figure before the blinding fire. 

“Lord Berkut…?”

Fernand stepped closer with caution. Something was off about the way Berkut was kneeling; he appeared to be holding something--or someone--in his arms. Fernand squinted in the light, daring to move closer only to step back in shock. Rinea laid limp in Berkut’s arms, lifeless and cold. He choked on a gasp, stepping further away from the prince. He watched in horror as Berkut laughed, low and deep. Clearly he was not mourning, but surely he hadn’t-

_ Oh, gods… _ Fernand’s mind formed the connection and he realized what had happened. But he didn’t want to believe it. Surely Berkut hadn’t killed her of his own free will? Surely there must be factors that he had yet to understand?

“Wh-who are you?” He asked, sounding bolder than he felt. “What have you done to Lady Rinea?” 

A strange light appeared beneath the prince, tracing out symbols and patterns. Berkut shook and made a sound like he was choking, struggling, then stood as the light faded. Rinea’s corpse dropped to the stone floor, seemingly of no importance to Berkut any longer. Fernand felt his knees begin to shake as the prince--or someone else, perhaps--turned to face him. Then he spoke.

“Ah, Fernand.” The voice that came from Berkut’s mouth was strange and disconcerting. It was as though two voices were speaking at once, intertwining in a way that Fernand could feel deep in his bones. His chest burned and ached in the presence of such power, waves of energy shaking his balance, until he dropped to his knees. He was utterly defenseless against such a being of pure strength. 

“You have proved yourself to be quite a loyal subject, following me even here.” Berkut grinned, stepping closer to Fernand. “Such devotion could prove itself useful for the time being.”

He slowly walked closer to Fernand’s kneeling form, his every step rattling the very walls around them. Pieces of stalactites crumbled and fell to the floor, like the pattering of rain in a heavy storm. Berkut leaned over him and grabbed his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. The scrape of his metal gauntlet was cold against Fernand’s skin. Now that he could view the prince properly, he was able to see the red that filled Berkut’s irises, as well as the glowing aura that surrounded him like a cloud of smoke. 

“Pledge your eternal devotion to me, Fernand. Swear upon your life and soul to serve me for as long as I shall live.” His choice of words confused Fernand. Shouldn’t he swear to serve for as long as he himself may live? He opened his mouth to ask but then he caught sight of something moving behind Berkut. Another figure--a woman--was  _ inside _ the altar. She was screaming without a sound, her soul damned and held tight by an unseen grip. He tore his eyes away from the horrid sight, only to find Berkut unfazed and still watching him intensely, waiting for an answer that he surely already knew. Fernand understood; the second that he was no longer useful to the prince, he would be cast away, just as Rinea had been. The length of his own life mattered not in Berkut’s grand scheme. He was willing to sacrifice whoever he believed had gone against him. Something about Duma’s power had changed Berkut, amplifying his anxieties and complexes. His body may have become many times stronger, but his mind had been stripped to a fragile state, firmly believing that everyone in this world was bound to betray him. 

“Berkut, milord…” Fernand’s voice shook, but he continued. “If-if that is still truly you, then you know very well that I would never leave your side.” 

Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he steeled himself, staring back into Berkut’s crimson gaze once more. 

“But know that the man that I have given my life to is the prince Berkut. He alone commands my body and soul, and he alone is the man I shall serve. So if you… if you are any less than him, if you are possessed by Duma or Mila or what have you… then know that my devotion belongs to another.” 

For a second, Berkut looked almost shocked, as though Fernand had managed to slip his hand through the haze around him. Then he let go of Fernand’s chin and stood back at his full height, looking down upon him. 

“Such strong conviction. But I believe that you have misunderstood me.” Berkut held his arm out to the side and Fernand watched with wide eyes as a lance formed from his aura. The smoky cloud swirled around his hand, twisting and curling to shape the intricacies of the lance. Once it had appeared completely, Berkut slammed it to the ground, shaking the entire cavern. 

“Duma does not possess me, I have merely been given a blessing of his power. All he needed was the soul of Rinea, so how could I refuse?” Fernand felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck. He knew that Berkut had no romantic feelings for Rinea but surely he had at least hesitated before offering her soul? And yet he seemed entirely unfazed, his lust for power overwhelming all other senses. Berkut cast the lance aside, letting it scatter back into smoke. Then he knelt next to Fernand, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“But believe me when I tell you this, Fernand: I am still Berkut, prince of Rigel.” He leaned close to Fernand’s face, close enough that he could feel the prince’s soft breaths against his skin. 

“And I am still the man you love and adore, am I not?” He spoke with a wry grin, his eyes glinting in the firelight. Fernand stilled.

“You… you knew?” His voice was nearly a whisper. Berkut laughed, but it wasn’t quite as menacing as before. He spread his arms wide with a grin.

“Oh, come on, Fernand! There is no one to mock you here! But trust me, you are not a subtle man. I’m certain that anyone within your vicinity at any point in time could have figured it out.”

He brought his hands back to Fernand’s face and he felt the icy metal of Berkut’s gauntlet brush against his skin, moving--almost romantically--to move a piece of hair out of his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and still slightly frightened. Then Berkut pulled away again, as if leading Fernand on with mere hints of affection. 

“It is precisely that love that is allowing me to trust you, Fernand. You simply don’t have it in you to cast away your feelings for me. Therefore, your weakness shall become my- no,  _ our _ strength.” Then suddenly, Berkut’s eyes went dark. “However, you must be aware that should your devotion fade, I will never forgive you.”

Fernand nodded slowly before responding.

“Yes, milord.”

Berkut smiled sickly sweet and stood, extending a hand to Fernand. A sense of unease still weighed heavy in his stomach but he took Berkut’s hand anyways, finally rising back to his feet. He clasped his hands nervously behind his back, standing at attention before his prince. 

“What are we to do then, milord?” He asked. 

Berkut gestured towards the entrance with a sweep of his arm, and the sound of the enemy’s steady march began to filter into the chamber.

“We shall take back what is mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> act 5 berkut is hard to write


End file.
